


i don't wanna lie in a grave out here where the coyote's cry

by cedartrees



Series: Dead Man's Hand [4]
Category: Fallout - Fandom, Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, F/M, Hurt, So much angst, i muck with the gunner storyline some, i wonder if mac realizes thst if it werent for that assaultron sylvie wouldve legit shot him dead, slight canon divergence in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 14:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11807514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedartrees/pseuds/cedartrees
Summary: Mac screws stuff up. Sylvie curses. Gunners, angst and plot holes abound in this installment of Dead Man's Hand.





	i don't wanna lie in a grave out here where the coyote's cry

**Author's Note:**

> This probably has more holes and inconsistencys than Game of Thrones but oh well.

“Hey boss.”

“Yeah, kid?”

“I gotta ask a favor.”

“Whatever you need.”

“Those gunners I used to run with? Well, ah, when I split with them, they didn’t take to well to that. Specifically the two in charge of my unit, a nasty pair called Winlock and Barnes…”

“Go on, Mac.”

“They’re after me, apparently got tired of making threats. I know where they are, I know what to expect. It’s just not something I can deal with on my own.”

“You want me to help you kill some Gunners? Easy, I never liked those folks much.”

“Thanks, boss. Thanks, I d-”

“It’s cool, Mac. I understand. Do you think we’ll need the power armor?”

“Hey, earth to RJ MacCready. Do you think we’ll need the power armor?”

“No, boss. It’ll be easy pickings.”

—-

“That them?” The boss squinted through the binoculars and the clumps of stiff, brown grass at the towering tangle of roads. Mac nodded, glad she couldn’t see the tension in his face. “Yep”

“Heck of a lot more guys than I understood we’d be facing Mac.” Her voice stayed low and conversational, but he knew her well enough to hear the edge in her words.

“They must’ve just gotten in a pack of recruits. Means they’ll be green and inexperienced.” The lie rolled off his tongue with an ease that surprised him. “Winlock and Barnes are still the only real trouble.”

“Don’t get cocky. I like you too much, kid.”

His nails bit into the calluses on his palms, knuckles turning pale. “Don’t worry about me, boss." 

She set the binoculars down and turned to him. There was grass stuck in the helmet she’d replaced the fedora with and her nose was pink from the cold. Mac picked the binocs up and fumbled them into a pocket, unwilling to meet her eyes.

"I mean it, Mac. Cocky gets you dead and I like you. Be careful.” She reached over and gave his shoulder a squeeze, then slowly rose to a crouch, frowning at the distant gunner camp.

“Anyway, we better get a move on if we want to pop these guys before nightfall.” She picked Chopper up from the ground and stuffed it into her holster.

The boss stood, tightening the straps on her armor. Mac moved behind her, tugging a combat knife from his boot. It was a simple thing to quietly swing the pack of weapons onto his shoulder and an even simpler thing to slice the belt holding Chopper’s holster.

The leather split easily and sagged at an angle. The boss let out a low cry of dismay, grabbing at the belt. “Crap! Leather snapped.”

“It’s alright boss. I’ve got some wonderglue.” He grabbed the two ends before she could, the words sour on his tongue.

“Bless you, kid. Ugh, I thought this leather was new and sturdy. This sucks, but at least it didn’t snap in battle.”

He bit his lip till the tang of blood filled his mouth, fumbling with the length of rope he’d pulled from a pocket. “Yeah, boss. Can you hold these two ends together while I glue ‘em?”

The boss reached behind herself, grasping the faded leather. “Make it quick, kid. Don’t want to keep your friends waiting.”

In one quick movement, Mac cinched the rope tight around her wrists and shoved a boot into the backs of her knees, sending her roughly to the ground. A knee between her shoulders kept her grounded while he stuffed a gag into her mouth.

She rolled beneath him, hollering confusedly into the gag. Mac tightened the bindings and yanked her up pressing the combat knife to her throat. Her twisting halted and he could hear her breath rattling out shakily through her nose.

“I’m sorry, Sylvie. I’m so sorry, but this is the only way we’re going to get anywhere near Winlock and Barnes.” He whispered, nudging her forward, towards the camp.

Halfway there, she kicked a leg back into his shins and purposely stumbled. He managed to keep his grip on her, though the knife slipped and sliced into the skin of her throat. It was shallow, not even enough to scar, but bile rose in Mac’s gullet.

“Damn it, please. Please. Just be still. I… I’m sorry.” He hissed. He didn’t want to hurt her. He’d never want that. But this was the only way they would survive the Gunners. Mac realized now that he should’ve told her, should’ve let her in on the plan. To late now though. 

—-

Makeshift shacks rose on stilty legs beneath the skybridge, the gunner logo hastily painted onto the sides. A head popped up from cover as they approached, unrecognizable underneath the helmet and olive green bandana.

“Looking for trouble are ya?”

Mac halted, tightening his grip on Sylvie. The hoarse voice was familiar. “Lacoco? It’s MacCrea-”

“I know who you are.” The barrel of a firearm slid through a small gap in the shack wall followed by the gleam of several others from the shacks around them. “And I think I might just shoot you and your friend right now.”

He’d expected this reaction, but it still made his mouth go dry. “That’s unwise, Lacoco. Why? Because this lady is the key to the biggest payout you’ve ever seen.”

Lacoco was still. The quickest way to a mercenary’s heart? Caps.

“Talk fast.”

“Pristine vault. Everything as it was 200 years ago. Experimental technology and state of the art weapons, armor, ammo etc inside. And next to the vault? A sleepy settlement rich in supplies and caps.”

He saw the boss’ face go pale and felt her shiver as she mumbled almost imperceptibly into the gag.

_In for a penny, in for a pound,_ Mac thought, his skin gone clammy and cold.

“And this friend of mine is your way in.”

Lacoco whistled and scrawny gunners popped down from the huts, circling the two of them like starving mongrels. The pack was lifted from his shoulders and tossed into a rickety elevator. Then the combat knife was confiscated and he was jerked away from a silent Sylvie.

After a rough pat down, they were stuffed into the elevator and it began a slow and shaky ascent to the skybridge above.

The boss turned an unflinching stare onto Mac. His skin crawled and he refused to look at her. Lacoco was silent on the trip up, guarding the backpacks and watching them both with a careful eye.

The elevator shuddered to a hault and a battered Assaultron sprinted up, chattering and twitching excitedly. “Down G12!” A nearby gunner spat, coming up and dragging the Assaultron off. The boss’ eyes finally dragged away from him to follow it. Mac knew she hated those bots with a passion.

Lacoco grabbed the backpacks and herded them off the elevator and towards a slightly less rickety shack a stone’s throw away. Wiry gunners bristled and snickered as they passed. 

Inside the light was dim, but he could see Winlock’s wolfish smile glinting. Lacoco dropped the backpacks and left, the door snapping shut behind him.

“MacCready.”

He waited a moment before answering, gaze shifting between the two smug gunners. “Winlock. Barnes.”

“You brought us a pet.” Barnes blatantly eyed the boss. She didn’t flinch or give any indication she’d even heard the man. She just stared at the back wall of the shack and, Mac noticed with a flash of surprise and confusion, the rope around her wrists was nearly severed. Rough metal glinted in her palm and he looked away. He should’ve known she wouldn’t be unprepared.

The crap was about to hit the fan.

“No, I brought you the biggest payout you’ve-” he dove for the backpacks mid sentence, pulling Snap from a pocket. Gunshots cracked above him and he swung the firearm up. Snap thundered twice and Winlock slumped wide eyed against the wall. Mac quickly fired two more shots into the limp gunner and turned to the bloody squabble that was Barnes and the boss.

Her thumbs were in his eyes and he was bashing her over the head with a pistol. “Out of the way!” Mac barked and the boss rolled off the writhing Gunner. Snap riddled Barnes with holes and he stilled.

It was quiet. Mac crouched and stuffed rounds into Snap, peering through a crack in the shack wall. For a moment, the place seemed empty of gunners. But then he noticed the wary enemy stalking behind cover, closing in on the shack. “Well, crap.” He muttered and turned to whisper at the boss.

Her bloody hands closed around his throat, pinning him against the wall. Blood dripped from several scrapes across her face, but somehow her glasses remained intact.

“You bastard. You fucking bastard.” She spat. Snap was pulled from his hands and pressed to his gut. “I trusted you. Have fun in hell.”

And that was when the Assaultron beam cut through the wall of the shack.

Mac rolled to cover in the resulting carnage, glancing towards the tattered remains of the backpacks. Most of the contents were melted. However, on the far side of the shack, the boss was squeezed against the wall, Kingslayer, Snap and Chopper in her possession.

He met her eyes. “I’m still on your side, boss. We survive this, I’ll explain everything.” He rasped desperately. Snap trembled in her grip for a moment, and then was slid over to him. He snatched up the revolver and the boss flung herself out into the fray.

Mac snuck through the tangle of debris, heading towards the clattering Assaultron. Shots sounded behind him and the robot looked up. He stilled and sighted in on the raw red eye of the bot. Snap cracked and it stumbled but righted and loped towards him. He emptied the remaining two shots into the approaching Assaultron, scuttling away to speedily reload.

It chattered maliciously and sped after him, clawed hands spinning. He spun around and dumped half the rounds into its face.

The Assaultron tumbled to a stop and sparked, the baleful eye flickering out.

Mac moved on, stuffing more rounds into Snap.

He spotted the boss once while moving through the camp. Lacoco was circling her, using an empty rifle as a melee weapon. He winced as Chopper swung and Lacoco fell.

Sometime later, Mac never had a good grasp of time during a battle, it was a rush of  _now_  and  _here_  and he could not be bothered to check the sky, it was quiet and the air stank of death and smoke. He tugged his helmet from his head, relishing the breath of cool air and knelt beside a body. A rifle through the corpse’s pockets produced a few rounds of ammo and a couple caps.

Mac sat back on his heels, Snap balanced on his knee and tightly wrapped a gash down his forearm. It was the worst of his wounds so far and would need stitches, but that could wait. He’d bound it firmly enough to slow the bleeding. 

He retrieved a cantine of water from a stockpile earlier and sipped from it, taking a few moments to collect himself before beginning his search for the boss.

This was a mess. It was going to be hell pleading with the boss to believe him. Perhaps-

“Aagghh!” He howled as someone grabbed him by the hair and shoved him forward to his knees. Snap was flung forward by the movement and skittered across the concrete. The grip tightened and his head was jerked back.

“You’ve got exactly thirty seconds to explain to me why I shouldn’t shoot you right now.” The boss hissed as the hot muzzle of a pipe pistol was pressed to his temple.

“There’s no way we could’ve survived a frontal assault on the gunners. They had to be taken down from the inside and this was the only way to do that in such a short amount of time.” His voice wavered and he tried not to yelp as the hand in his hair twisted sharply.

“Why didn’t you tell me this? Why did you lie to me?” She spat.

“I didn’t think you’d agree to help me if you knew how much trouble it was going to be. I’m sorry, I didn’t trust you.” His stomach flopped over at the confession. 

She released him with a snarl of frustration and stepped away. Mac scrambled up, wincing at his throbbing scalp. The boss looked defeated. She was grimy and bloody. Her hair hung ragged and greasy. There was an Assaultron burn down her left arm and a shallow scoop of flesh was missing on the side of her neck where she’d been grazed by a round.

She spat a 'don’t move’ at him and strode over to where Snap lay, stuffing the pipe pistol in a pocket and snatching up the revolver. Her hand came up to pinch her nose as she turned half away from him. Mac watched her guardedly, tensed to flee, even though he knew he’d not be able to bring his legs to move if she attacked.

“Of course I would’ve helped you. I said if you ever needed anything, I would help.” Her words shivered and her arms curled unsteadily around herself. “What.. what have I done for you to not believe me?”

“You haven’t done anything, it’s just wasteland common sense. Out here, people will dump you in a ditch over  _a tin of cram_. I didn’t grow up in some cushy pre-war home. I grew up in a hole in the ground where there were plenty of  _monsters_ , human and not, who would’ve gladly eaten me.” He blurted and then spat a weary curse. 

What the frick was he saying? Just a couple weeks ago he was deciding he trusted the boss pretty well and now here he was saying he didn’t trust her and royally  _screwing crap up_.

“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!” She kicked the body of a gunner viciously, then dragged it to the edge of the Interchange and shoved it over the side. Her sides heaved as she watched the corpse fall.

He took a deep breath. “Boss, I-”

“Hush! I’m sorry, just please,  _please_  not right now.” She pinched the bridge of her nose again, hard, and he noticed her hands shaking. “Do you realize that I would’ve shot you had that infinitely damned Assaultron not attacked? I would’ve put a bullet in your stomach and left you to  _die_." 

She raked a hand through her hair and then scrubbed at the shallow gauge along her neck. "I don’t even know… Let’s just go alright? Let’s just go back home." 

She fled to the confines of the shacks, snagging a replacement backpack from where it hung on her way.

Mac watched her leave, his stomach turning over and over. He wanted to retch. He wanted throw the bodies of Winlock and Barnes from the skybridge. He wanted her to smile at him again.

—-

They holed up that night in a stand of trees that gave them a little shelter from the elements and cover from prying eyes.. The boss radioed Garvey to let him know they were heading back. She didn’t mention Mac. Then she made another radio call to the detective, Valentine, asking him to meet her at Sanctuary.

 Mac sat in tense silence, caught between making himself useful and not doing anything for fear of mucking it up. He settled for cleaning up the nasty slice on his forearm, snagging needle and thread from the med kit when the boss fished it out.

It was slow and painful going trying stitching the wound up with his left hand and he could feel the boss’ glare on him. The burn on her arm was patched up, as was the graze. A black eye had formed up and down one side of her face, darkening the patch of stark white skin around one eye. She looked like hell.  _And it’s because of you._ He shoved the intrusive thought away halfheartedly.

"Just get over here. I’ll sew you up.” The boss finally growled after the fifth iteration of Mac dropping the needle and scuffling about in the dirt after it. He looked up at her a little guiltily. “No, no. I can take care of it.”

She pointed wordlessly to the patch of dirt beside her, glaring steadily at him over the tops of her glasses.

Biting back a grumping sigh that hid beneath it relief, he scuttled over, then passed the needle and thread to her. She balanced his arm on her knee, wiped the edges of the wound down and skillfully threaded the needle. Mac tried not to fidget, tucking his other hand under his knee.

“Start at the beginning, tell me everything.”

He looked up at her words apprehensively. “You mean-”

“Everything.”

He began at Little Lamplight, it wasn’t like he remembered much of anything before that. She sewed up his arm with neat stitches while he haltingly told her about the town of children, his stint as mayor(he could’ve sworn a small smile crossed her face at that) and even mentioned the Lone Wanderer.

Little Lamplight wasn’t particularly easy to talk about, he’d spent so long hiding his knowledge of it so as to keep the place safe. Though in truth, he had no idea if Lamplight was still around. It had been years since he’d been in the Capital Wasteland.

His time in Big Town and his first jobs with the Gunners was something he went around in circles with. Rambling about minor things like fried fish stands and the itchy uniforms. Mac was stalling. He dreaded what came next in his tale.

The boss inspected her needlework and smeared some goo from a cracked stimpack over the wound. She glanced up at the heavy silence that welled up around them. “I doubt you’re done, go on.”

Her blunt sentence seemed to be the final switch and it all came stumbling out. Lucy, her creaking laugh that always made him smile, the secrets he kept from her. Duncan and the curls he got from his mother. Life was hard but they had each other and that was all they needed eh?

Until they didn’t have each other. Until one night in a metro station.

A hand rested on the back of his neck. Sylvie didn’t say anything, didn’t prompt him to continue now that she understood his reluctance.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. It took every shred of control to keep from completely breaking down. His muscles ached and his body shook, nails digging tiny pink crescents into clammy palms.

Finally he sat back, letting out a shaky breath and avoiding the boss’ gaze. She removed her hand from the nape of his neck and gingerly prodded the burn on her arm.

“After.. ah after… I traveled from place to place with Duncan. The Capital wasn’t being kind to the Gunners so they scattered north." 

He’d spent a year skipping around towns, luck failing, caps being spent faster than he could earn them. It came to a head on baking hot summer day when he collapsed on the doorstep of a house in the middle of nowhere. Broke, starving, carrying a wailing toddler and dizzy from the heat, he begged shelter from the elderly couple in the house.

Frank and Alma Kevin had lived in the house all their lives. It had stood since before the bombs, housing generations and generations. It was just the Kevins now however. Their children had long since run off to cities and towns.

There was a small, but thriving garden. A pair of brahmin, a scraggly old mutt and two cats roamed the grounds. The place was neatly hidden on the side of a mountain, obscured by tangled thickets.

The Kevins nursed Mac back to health and grew to adore little Duncan. The toddler could often be found curled up on the belly of the hound dog next to Alma. Mac made use of his skills and hunted the forest, earning his keep stocking the cellar. It was a very happy year and a half.

And then Duncan got sick.

It started with a cough and then slowly a rash across his skin that headed up into painful boils. The four year old was constantly tired and disinterested until finally he didn’t leave the bed. 

Mac started working with what was left of the Wasteland Gunners again, scraping together caps that he spent of stimpacks and meds. Nothing worked. His relationshop with the Kevins grew strained and often Frank sat him down at the kitchen table, trying to talk sense into him.

Mac continued to range farther and farther, resorting to thieving caps from the unwary more than once. Finally he made the decision to head for the Commonwealth in search of a cure and caps. He tagged along with a caravan and then hooked up with a platoon of 'Wealth gunners headed by none other than Winlock and Barnes. The rest was a year and a half with the gunners, then six months working on his own and then.. Sylvie.

His tense muscles eased as he fell silent. It was all out. Everything. And his shoulders felt a little lighter from it.

The boss grabbed his chin in a firm grip and turned his face to look at her. "Your son, Duncan. I’ll find a cure. I swear it.” Then she stood up and retrieved a sleeping roll from the packs. “I’ll take second watch.” She unraveled the bag, tucked her glasses into the pack beside her and burrowed into the bag.

Mac blinked, not really sure he’d heard what he thought he heard. He wanted to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. Eventually he settled for blowing out the lantern, tugging his duster tight around him and leaning back against the scratchy bark of a thin tree.

The boss wasn’t very good at faking sleep, she was too restless when he knew she slept dead still. When he woke her for the dog’s watch she was wide awake and wordlessly packed her sleeping roll then retreated to the edge of the grove.

He curled up in the bag, not expecting to sleep, not really wanting to, but exhaustion blew over him and he slipped into a tired doze. 

The boss woke him with a nudge from her boot at the crack of dawn, tossing a freshly filled cantine and breakfast to him. He wolfed down the food, packed his things and followed her out of the grove. She didn’t say anything unless she absolutely had to and he did the same. They were treading on eggshells, tensions running rampant.

They made Sanctuary at dusk. Garvey and Dogmeat greeted them at the gate and Sylvie split from Mac to confer with the Minuteman. The settlement fed on the obvious air of stiffness and gave Mac the hairy eyeball, lingering protectively around the boss’ house.

He slunk off to the river, occupying himself with cleaning his new rifle. It was a slightly battered tool with faint, scuffed out initials on the stock. He’d picked it up from a gunner the other day. Inspecting it distracted him from his worries and he worked till it grew too dark and when it did he moved to a corner of the treehouse and finished there.

Mac didn’t see the boss the rest of the evening, he slept in the treehouse and in the morning Nick Valentine showed up. Sylvie left with the detective and Dogmeat that day for Fort Hagen, bristling with supplies and weapons.

Somehow the settlement had gleaned the details of what had gone on at Mass Pike Interchange. They never physically lashed out at him, preferring a subtler way of expressing their anger. Someone 'accidentally’ spilled a bucket of water on his sleeping bag while he was in it. “All out of shaving razors” the clean shaven shopkeep shrugged. Even the brahmin seemed to dislike him.

However after a week passed, then another one, the settler slowly warmed up to him. They weren’t his bosom buddies(he had screwed with  _their_  General after all) but the passive agressive behavior died down. 

Just over three weeks after she’d left, the boss returned. Dogmeat bounded beside her, tongue lolling out happily. She was battered and weary but her half grimace was toothy and he could see the gleam in her eyes that said she’d triumphed.

It would be another day before MacCready would speak with her though. Plenty enough time for gossip to circulate through the settlement. 

Word was that she, Valentine and 'Meat had infiltrated Fort Hagen. She’d killed the man who murdered her husband and got a lead on something or someone. Valentine was heading for Goodneighbor and the Memory Den with brain bits? Rumors spread, changing like a game of Telephone.

Sylvie cornered him by the power armor station. She was freshly scrubbed, stitches running down the side of her right hand and a black eye coloring one half of her face.

“Hey kid. Enjoying the settlement?”

Mac tried not to fidget nervously. What did she mean by that? Was she gonna send him back to Goodneighbor? Draft him into the Minutemen? Aw heck. 

“It’s a fine place.”

“It is, there’s some friendly folk here.” She nudged her glasses up her nose with one shoulder and scraped a stray piece of mud off a power armor plate. The silence stretched between them like a minefield.  _Say something!_ He snarled at himself, eyes locked on the ground.

“Do you ah, do you still want me on? I mean n- not like that, I mean you still want me tagging along?” He blurted, risking a quick glance up at her.

He saw her fingers press into the metal of the amor suit beside her. She bit her lip and was silent for a couple minutes. Finally she tugged the worn jacket handing on her shoulders tight around herself and nodded. “Of course. Yeah, kid. That’s… that’s actually why I came over here.” Sylvie squinted at the ground, one hand scratched at the stitches running down the other. 

“Listen, I’m sorry. The trouble with the gunners, I should’ve thought about it from your perspective. You had experience with these guys, you knew what you were-”

“Boss  _no_.”

 She glanced sharply up at the interruption, hands stilling. Mac raked his fingers through his hair and looked helplessly away. “I… I screwed up.” He began haltingly. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you everything I knew and I lied to you. I took advantage of your trust in me, you had every right to react as you did.”

He looked hesitantly to her as he finished, pleading with her to forgive him. She seemed a little surprised, but gave a small but genuine smile and crossed the cracked floor to take his cap from his fingers and place it on his head. 

“We’ll leave for the Memory Den in a couple days, rest up and get ready, Mac.”


End file.
